


Scenes from a Galaxy Far Away

by TwinEnigma



Series: Jason the Jedi AU [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Use of the Force, AgriCorps (Star Wars), All your favs are clones, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Bart Allen is Impulse, Clark Kent just wants grow plants, Clone Troopers (Star Wars) Need Hugs, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Clones, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, GFY, Gen, Kon is so done, Kon-El | Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Mash-up, That's Not How The Force Works, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tim Drake is Bad at Self-Care, no betas we die like men, philosophical differences in the Jedi Order are Real and Alive, superhero names are clone names because, what is a supply chain anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/TwinEnigma
Summary: Clone Trooper Kon of the 222nd Supply Corps is lucky, all things considered.Or, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away, even a small measure of peace is something to treasure.
Series: Jason the Jedi AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/391567
Comments: 20
Kudos: 20





	1. the sun

**Author's Note:**

> In order to help them better fit the setting, _adjustments_ were made to the DC characters.

Clone Trooper Kon is lucky.

He’s heard all kinds of stories from his brothers about the horrors from the front lines, about the endless waves of Clankers and Seppie cruelties. He’s heard all about the Jedi and knows there are good ones, like the Kenobi and Skywalker team and Plo Koon, who show them care and compassion. He knows that most are indifferent to his brothers and their suffering and that a few care very little for them at all. Those ones are the worst, as they believe he and his brothers are not real living beings, but things that are easily cast aside when they’ve served their purpose.

For a long time, he’d feared that’s where he’d end up, but Kon got lucky: he’d been assigned to the 222nd Supply Corps, under the command of General Kal-El.

The Objector.

It’s said that the General hadn’t wanted anything to do with the war, that he’d _refused_ to take a command, and had to be forced into it. It’s said that the only reason he’d agreed to serve was if it wasn’t a frontline position. There were even rumors that he wasn’t even really a Jedi at all.

Much more secretly, it’s whispered he’d refused because he saw them as _people._

Kon doesn’t know if any of it’s true (and he, like all his brothers, dares not hope for impossible things), but the 222nd keeps him busy and as far away from the front as he can possibly get while still breathing. As far as he’s concerned, that’s truly lucky.

And it’s not like it’s a bad posting either: they’re responsible for keeping the Sector Army supplied with everything _but_ fresh Shinies. It’s hard work and never seems to end, but it doesn’t feel like he’s betraying anyone by being here and not on the front lines fighting – the brothers out there _need_ the supplies he and the 222nd bring. Without them, more brothers would die needlessly.

The General agrees.

“There are many ways to serve the Republic,” he tells him, smiling.

He’s big, with broad shoulders and a heavy, muscular build, and this monstrously huge presence that seems to just take up all the space around him. Honestly, he looks like he could easily crush any one of them with one hand and wouldn’t even need to use the Force to do it. But anyone who’s been around him for more than a moment knows that the General hasn’t got the inclination to do violence to anyone – no, he’d much rather be down in the hydroponics fields, getting his hands in the dirt and mud all over his robes.

No one’s even sure he has a lightsaber.

“You don’t _have_ to fight,” the General adds and kneels down to examine one of the plants that looks a bit _rough_ around the edges. “Me, I’m a farmer, at heart. This is where I belong, not out on some battlefield.”

Getting the soil chemistry right on rocks like this has always been more luck than science, but getting things to grow is the General’s specialty it seems, and the scruffy plant almost immediately perks up when he touches one of its leaves.

It’s a wondrous thing every time Kon sees it.

The General stands and his smile is bright as a sun.

It almost hurts to look at him.


	2. commander caff

To say that they don’t see any action at all in the 222nd is a gross lie.

It’s war and the front lines tend to move around a lot. A planet held by the Seppies one day might be held by the Republic the next or vice-versa. Control of cities and sectors can shift in an instant, sometimes before it can even get up the com chain to warn them.

Kon _hates_ getting sucked into the fighting, but he’s a good soldier, and he’s got a job to do. Good brothers are _relying_ on him and the 222nd getting through and he knows that. Hells, sometimes he swears that he can almost feel them waiting for them.

The only thing he hates more than getting pulled into the fighting is when their Jedi Commander, Tim, is being a careless sack of osik.

And, if he is honest, Tim is often careless with himself. He is a standard human, not built for extremes like they are, and, while he can cheat a little with Jedi tricks and truly obscene amounts of caff, that’s really no replacement for actual R&R. Sure, he’s a brilliant slicer and quick on the spot with that double-bladed lightstaff of his, but he tends to get lost in his work base-side and forgets to take care of himself.

The General often leaves him to it and it’s a mystery as to why. Surely, as the senior ranking Jedi, he should intervene, but he does not. Instead, it falls to them to mind their Commander’s well-being.

“He needs to sleep,” Kon tells Match, their medic and his batchmate. “I’ve seen _vibroknives_ that jitter less than him with all that caff and we’ve got a drop in less than 24 hours.”

Match snorts, but doesn’t disagree.

Catching a Jedi off guard is tricky, but this is not the first time they’ve had to do this. They get lucky and Tim is too distracted by his work to see Match sneaking up on him. The only downside is that when Tim wakes up, Kon has to deal with a cranky little Jedi shooting him looks of utter betrayal.

_Not yet, no, that comes later_.

Kon blinks at the stray thought, but forgets it in the wake of a blistering headache.

When he wakes, he notes that, luckily, it’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Match will _make_ you take a nap, or so help him.
> 
> please ignore my chapter titles they will be awful cause I just brainstreamed writing this wholesale and wasn't even considering breaking it up at first


	3. Respect

Kon knows that there are some sentients who don’t like clones. There’s a certain amount of luck in being assigned to the 222nd that he and his brothers haven’t really had to face anyone like that with any regularity. Their General is odd, to be sure, but he is a good general – none better, in their opinion, save perhaps a few. Even Tim, who grumbles and groans about them siccing Match on him so he gets some rest, treats them like family.

It comes as a shock, then, when this blonde near-human girl shows up, declares that she is the General’s cousin, and it couldn’t be plainer that she does not like clones, not one bit.

“Kara,” the General bites out, “What brings you here?”

Kon can tell that the General is trying his best to ignore her attitude: he may be speaking with his normal cordial tone, but there’s an edge to it and to his posture that is obvious to anyone who really knows him.

The General does not suffer intolerance well, if at all: it is, as they understand it, not the Jedi way.

Kara gives Kon and his brothers a deeply mistrustful look and then replies in a language that is utterly strange.

The General closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I have a _duty_ , Kara.”

In a move that startles them, her whole body rises off the ground in a smooth gliding motion. She bares her teeth and, for all that she looks human, she is clearly something _else_ , radiant and crackling in a way that makes Kon’s head swim. “To your monks? To the Republic? Or, no, to these… _things_?”

“They are _individuals_ , Kara,” the General interrupts firmly and he might as well be a mountain. “Please refer to them as such.”

“Nonetheless, if you had any sense, you’d know the danger you’re in,” Kara counters, looking down on him as she begins to rise higher into the air. “Stay if you like, but time is running out.”

The General watches her rise higher and, then, with a loud boom, she is gone.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” he tells them, after a moment. He wiggles his fingers. “She’s… _young_ and our homeworld doesn’t exactly have a good history with cloning.”

“Isn’t she a Jedi, too, sir?” Kon asks.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, but neither am I, technically.”

“Sir?” one of the others asks, speaking for all of them in his bewilderment.

“Ask Knight Drake about it sometime,” the General says and goes back to his plants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the kryptonian clone wars remains a Thing that happened but we're not gonna talk about that or about the other ~Implications~


	4. Small Victories

“He’s _Agricorps_ ,” Tim explains, in between long gulps of caff. The tone suggests he’s surprised that Kon didn’t know already. “They’re a service branch – farming and biome recovery, ecologists, you know?”

Kon frowns, eyes on what is already the commander’s second cup, and thinks of ways to get it away from him without him noticing. “I thought all Jedi were the same.”

Tim shakes his head as he takes another swig. “Service Corps are different. Bit looser in philosophy, take a more direct action approach to the whole _service to the Republic_ thing. Most of them never made Knight, but they’re still _technically_ Jedi – at least on flimsi anyway, and that’s all that counts after Geonosis, as far as anyone’s concerned these days.”

He shrugs, managing to keep his cup just out of reach, and adds, “It’s not something most people _choose_ , if that’s what you’re asking. But some people just really like having their hands in the dirt instead of politics.”

“Sounds smart to me,” Impulse, one of the latest shinies, comments.

Tim gives him a look, which gives Kon the distraction he needs to snatch the caff cup.

“No,” he tells him when the commander turns his attention on him. “You’ve had enough.”

“Ugh,” Tim groans, rubbing his face with both hands. “Why are you all _like_ this?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Kon says.

“Speak for yourself,” Impulse laughs, slipping into a jog towards the Canteen, “I was built this way!”

There’s a pause as they watch him run off, and Tim looks longingly at his caff cup. “Look, can I just get one more sip?”

“Match’s orders,” Kon informs him, upending the cup and spilling its contents.

Tim visibly sulks, watching the spilled fluid pool in the dirt. “I _outrank_ him.”

“Medic,” Kon reminds him and the commander deflates further.

Everyone, even the Jedi, know that medics are not to be ignored and can get mighty wrathful when they feel like someone has refused to trust their good sense and listen when told what’s good for them. Even though the 222nd sees less direct combat action than other units, Match is no different from any good GAR medic that way. Oh sure, Tim could try and get more caff – and Kon can almost see him trying to work out how to do it on the sly – but Match would find out and he’d probably tie him to a bed for some proper rest before the day was out.

There are no secrets on base, after all, or at least none that stay secret very long.

And if there is anything Knight Tim Drake is great at it is _cost-benefit_ analysis.

“Ugh, it’s too early for this,” Tim groans, at last, and slumps onto a supply box.

Kon privately considers this a victory.


	5. Sideways

When things go sideways as they so often do in this war, they tend to have a way of going sideways in a spectacularly disastrous fashion.

What was supposed to be a routine supply drop has become a desperate evacuation as a Separatist battlegroup drops out of hyperspace practically right on top of them and everything, predictably, goes to _osik._

Kon is busy trying to keep himself, the commander, and a handful of shinies alive long enough to get to the evac point. He doesn’t even think about where they are – he trusts Tim to be in the center of the formation, deflecting blaster bolts back to give them room to advance, and that the shinies know to follow their training and stick close.

They’re almost to the top of a ridge when he turns and notices there’s an opening in Tim’s defense, leaving two of the shinies – the batchmates Impulse and Inertia, judging by the thunderbolts on their helmets – exposed. And he isn’t the only one: one of the Seppie droids has seen it, too.

For a moment, the universe crawls to a stop.

“Down!” he orders through the din, willing them to hear him, and to his relief, both shinies fling themselves out of the way before the droid’s blaster bolt can hit. He opens fire immediately, not stopping until the droid is down. He pauses, extending a hand to help Inertia up, and shouts for them to move.

Tim, however, seems to have frozen in place. He is staring at Kon like he’s never seen him before.

“We _have_ to _go_ ,” Kon tells him, shaking his shoulder. He’ll carry him out if he has to, but he’d much rather not have to.

Tim blinks slowly, as if coming back to himself, and he is off, moving in that eerie slip-quick way that Jedi do, lightstaff twirling blaster bolts away from their path. The shinies are already following in his wake. He slides down the other side of the ridge after them.

It was a stroke of luck and Kon can only hope their luck will hold.


	6. Semantics

“You’re force sensitive,” Tim hisses when they’re safely back on base, grabbing Kon’s arm and pulling him aside.

Kon yanks his arm back and scowls, looking around to see if anyone had heard. “That’s crazy. Don’t say stupid things like that. Someone could _hear_ you.”

Tim grimaces, glaring at him in obvious frustration. “Kon, you moved the twins out of the way of that blaster bolt. I saw it.”

“ _No_ , I gave them an order to duck and they ducked,” he counters.

“No, you _didn’t_ ,” Tim insists. “There wasn’t enough time for them to hear you and react. And I _know_ what a Force push feels like.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Kon tells him, because he _is_ and this is entirely the kind of ridiculous nonsense that spells trouble for him. “It was luck, pure and simple.”

Tim groans, rolling his eyes. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“I’m a _clone_ ,” Kon explains, like he’s an idiot because _clearly_ he just doesn’t get it. “Clones _are not_ Force Sensitive. We _can’t_ be.”

Tim, contrary to the fact he’s acting like a total sack of _osik_ , is not actually an idiot. He’s smart and he _listens_ : he listens to everything and everyone around him. He’s spent more time with the GAR than he has with his Jedi peers. No doubt he’s heard at least something about Kamino and their policies on defective product. His frame tenses a bit, eyes shifting as he mentally chews it over. Then, he relaxes a little, stepping back, but there’s a new comprehension in his eyes.

“I’m just _lucky_ ,” Kon tells him and tries not to sound like he’s begging. “That’s all.”

Anyone can be lucky. Luck isn’t something someone can be sent back to Kamino for.

“Maybe you are,” Tim says, finally, but he doesn’t sound pleased about it.

“Of course I am,” Kon insists. “Don’t jinx it.”

He can only hope Tim won’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha let go of the TTK?
> 
> not on your life


	7. Lookout

“I’ve been thinking,” Tim says, a few days later.

Kon rolls his eyes because this is the _last_ conversation he wants to be having right now and, next to him, Impulse chimes in with, “Well, that’s dangerous.”

Tim gives him a withering glance. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, between you and the caff machine,” Impulse replies, grinning and miming a set of blasters at him.

Tim grimaces in such a way that it’s clear he doesn’t find it near as funny as Impulse does. He then lets out a long, weary sigh and, with a look that says he clearly hasn’t any plans to actually let this go anytime soon, he petulantly slouches his way towards his office.

Impulse turns to look at him, a rare worried expression on his face. “You good, sir?”

Kon nods gratefully and is rewarded with one of Impulse’s sunniest smiles.

He feels very lucky, indeed.


	8. Growing Pains

Inertia, in many ways, is very unlike his batchmate, for all that they’re so very alike. For one, he tends to be quieter and sleeps like a rock whenever and wherever he can find even a shred of space. He isn’t really one for wasting energy except to disagree with Impulse, but he can be in his head a lot and that’s a bit worrisome to Kon. In contrast, Impulse is all energy, all the time, and is prone to changing his mind, seemingly on a whim, which is likely how he earned his name and that ridiculous list of things he’s not allowed to do anymore. He always puts on this loud, carefree front that very often seems to serve as a distraction for what’s really going on in his head and that, too, worries Kon for not entirely unrelated reasons.

However, when the two of them get it in their heads to agree on something, they’re absolutely impossible to deal with. They might as well be two halves of a whole pain in the _shebs_.

Why they came to the conclusion that Kon needs worrying over is a mystery, but now he’s lucky if he can so much as take a piss without one of them conveniently appearing to run interference with Tim.

It was cute for the first few rotations but now both Kon _and_ Tim are over it.

“It’s good for them,” the General says, smiling as they inspect the fields.

“Why, though?” Kon asks in exasperation. He doesn’t get it, he really doesn’t.

The General hums thoughtfully and stoops, gently untangling some sprouts with his fingers. “Everyone needs a little time and space to grow, don’t you think?”

Maybe for _plants_ that is true, Kon supposes mulishly, but they are not plants. Still, if he’s learned anything from the General, it’s that patience goes a long way sometimes.

He decides to let it go. They’re just shinies, anyway. They’ll grow out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bored clone trooper headcanons are _*chef's kiss*_


	9. Plus One

Cadet Stephanie Brown is Kon’s latest shiny and she’s not even technically theirs.

She, for that is what she has identified as, is from the Republic Fleet Training station that’s in orbit over their Dici System base. It’s run by her father – and that, of course, is a wild concept, the idea of a father and not a template – and he, thankfully, is someone that they rarely have to deal with. After all, it’s a _training_ facility, not active combat, and therefore limited to their portion of orbital clearance. They mind their business and the 222nd Supply minds theirs.

Stephanie, however, has clearly become the exception.

Somehow, no one knows quite how, she’d ended up with them at one of their shore leave watering holes and made fast friends with Impulse. She promptly invited herself along and made herself quite at home. Her visits are now familiar, if unpredictable, and clearly an open secret. No one, not even the General, comments on her visits – if anything, he seems even a little amused by them.

“Won’t your dad miss you?” Tim complains. He squints his eyes at his datapad and then groans, rubbing them as he flops back on the officer’s lounge couch.

“Nope,” she replies, popping the last syllable. She absently rearranges the Sabbacc cards in her hands and settles deeper into her chair. “He doesn’t really intend to let me graduate anyway. Might as well have fun, right?”

“Can he even do that?” Impulse asks, looking more than a little confused.

“Different rules,” Kon explains.

“ _Unfair_ rules,” Stephanie says pointedly.

Tim sighs deeply and raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Which will hopefully be fixed when this Sith forsaken war is over.”

She looks unconvinced, which is probably one of the reasons why they like her so much. She may be shiny, but she’s got the healthy skepticism of a brother and the mouth to match, even it’s in Middle Gothamite and not Mando.

Kon wonders if she’ll choose to wind Tim up or let him stew. Either is good.

Next to him, tucked in the corner of the couch, Inertia twitches in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a good place for me to stop, let you catch a breath
> 
> Next update will definitely be a batch, as per my usual chaos.


End file.
